The Past in the Present
by skorso
Summary: Bones fan fiction that is focused on the character Lance Sweets. The story narrates Lance reuniting with one of his four foster parents in a very unwanted circumstance.
1. Chapter 1

**Bones fan fiction that is focused on the character Lance Sweets. **

**The story recites Lance reuniting with an abuser of his past. **

**None of the following characters belong to me. **

Lance Sweets sat at his desk, filling out the last of the papers for the day. It had been a long day and he was eager to go home and relax. Just as the pen he held slid across the paper with his signature and he closed the file, his office door swung open and Agent Seeley Booth entered the room with his hands periodically on his hips.

"Got a case," He said clapping his hands together, "Let's go."

Lance had noticed Booth exceedingly bored the last couple of weeks because of the lack of any cases. However, despite Booth not having any cases did not mean Lance was left off the hook. He had had a long week and this day was the peak of all of it.

"Well I was just about to head home…"

Lance was barely finished before Booth spread out his palms and said in an encouraging and almost pleading tone, "Come on, Sweets, We haven't had a case in weeks. If we're fast enough you'll have plenty of time to get home and watch cartoons."

"Agent Booth," But Lance stopped, seeing the eager smile on Booth's face. "Okay, fine." He obliged sighing light heartedly and dropping the pen.

Despite his outward appearance, Lance was pleased to some extent that Booth wanted them to work together. Though it was not in Booth's character to admit verbally that he liked Lance's company, his actions often proved that he appreciated Lance.

Booth made fists and pumped them in the air, "Great, let's go."

Lance put his hands in his pockets and began to follow Booth out of his office, "You know it's questionable how excited you get over someone else's death."

"Don't get all shrinky on me, Sweets," Booth said annoyed, "I'm just excited to get in the field again."

"It could be a sign of…" However, Lance was cut off when Booth pushed him out the door and closed the door behind them.

"It's _not _a sign for anything. Now let's go. That dead body isn't going to stay there forever. Come on."

Lance and Booth arrived at the scene promptly, which was located outside the city in a national park. As they strutted down a slope, Lance posed the question, "Why exactly am I here? I don't think I can really profile a dead body."

"No, you're here because the couple who found him is a bit spooked," Booth said through huffs of breaths, "Turns out; tripping over a body in the middle of the night can freak a person out."

"Who hikes at ten thirty at night?" Lance asked wrinkling his nose as he stumbled down the slope. "Oh jeez, that's the body?" Sneering at the sight of the raw mutilated body, Lance covered his nose from the repellent smell.

"Why does it smell so bad?" Booth asked pulling his coat over half his face.

Approaching the two FBI agents from behind, Jack Hodgins squatted by the body and began tweezing out the insects that scurried across the remains, "That would be the sweet smell of this beauty," Amused, Hodgins lifted up the tweezers and showed the agents a bug squirming for its dear life.

"Okay, you need to get that thing out of my face," Booth said with a threat in his tone. Completely unfazed Hodgins resumed tweezing.

Doctor Temperance Brennan crouched over the body examining the remains with her usual straight-faced expression. "Male," She said robotically, "he's between the ages of seven and nine."

"Damn," Booth sighed, "that's so young. Got any cause of death?"

"I won't know until we get the body back to the Jeffersonian, although I see abrasionson the victims back suggesting he could have bled to death."

"What caused these – abrasions?" Booth waved his pen in circles.

"It could be a number of things," Brennan answered, "Possibly a knife, whip or some other weapon." She briefly glanced up at Booth.

"Is that the couple over there?" Lance asked Booth gesturing at two people leaning against a FBI vehicle.

"Yeah, so go over there and do your shrinky stuff."

"It's called profiling…Agent Booth," A little tired and not entirely in the mood for jokes, Lance found it necessary for some reason to defend his profession.

"Yeah, got it, go do your profiling stuff."

Lance unhurriedly left Booth and Brennan and walked over to the couple. "Hi, I'm Dr. Sweets. I'm here to evaluate you and make sure that you're okay."

"For the last time, we're fine!" The woman shouted poking Lance in the chest, "I just want to go home, take a damn shower, and go to bed! It's this woose who's keeping us here." She gestured roughly at her husband.

He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Lance addressed him, "Sir, are you okay?"

The man shrugged, glancing at his worriedly at his vicious wife, "I'll be fine. I – I just need to go home."

Curling his lips, Lance sighed, "Agent Burrow will drive you home then." He called Burrow over who quickly led the couple away. Lance sighed again. This was a complete waste of a trip for him.

Back at the Jeffersonian, Lance met with Angela to find the identification of the boy. With the skull provided by Dr. Brennan, Angela was able to make a model of the child's face.

"So I was able to make a reconstruction of the face," Angela said pulling up her results on the large monitor. Sweets waited by her side as the results loaded. In less than a minute, the face of a young boy popped up. "I searched through missing child reports and didn't find anything so I decided to go through social services and see if he had been in the system." Fiddling with the pad in her hand, more results appeared on screen with a face that closely matched her reconstruction.

"Jared Clame," Sweets read aloud, "he was four years old when his parents put him into foster care because they both lost their jobs and couldn't support him. His eighth birthday was just last week."

Angela sighed, "Look at him, he was just a baby."

"What about the foster home he was from?" Hands in his pockets Lance turned his body to face her.

"Yeah," She replied, "its run by an Abigail Lowe. She's thirty-five, single, and lives off welfare. She fosters five children, including Jared."

"Judging by the dump of the body, it wasn't done with love, it seemed hasty, as if his death was possibly an accident and they had to discard the body quickly," Sweets evaluated. "Agent Booth and I will have to visit Miss Lowe for me to analyze whether or not she's capable of so inhumanely discarding a child she took care of."

"She must have a heart for kids, she's fostered five of them," Angela pointed out.

"No," Lance shook his head and looked at Angela, "Unfortunately, many foster parents take in children and abuse or fail to take care of the children."

A look of displeasure took over Angela's features, "Great, and we're just handing our kids to them..."

Pursing his lips, Lance nodded in unfortunate agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I don't really go into the feelings of the characters and I wanted to explain why. Because they aren't my characters. I can't tell you how they really feel. So I focus more on their gestures and outward reactions because I can see that while watching the show. Now obviously I can tell if a character is angry but I don't want to assume I know exactly how they feel. **

**I hope readers understand that and still enjoy reading. Thanks :) **

"Time of death was four days ago," The voice of Temperance Brennan sounded through the SUV speakers. "Doctor Vaziri and I are still examining the remains. I'll meet you at lunch to compare notes with you later."

"Alright, thanks, Bones," Booth said hanging up.

"Is this the place," Lance asked as Booth pulled the car over in front of a rundown old house. "This place is a dump." He added.

Exiting the vehicle they walked through the bent gate and up to the house. Agent Booth knocked on the front door of Abigail Lowe and were greeted by a short thin woman with curly blond hair. In her arms, she held a red-faced child who seemed to have finished a long session of tears.

"Abigail Lowe?" Booth questioned.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" She snapped adjusting the child in her arms.

"FBI Agent Booth and this is my partner, Dr. Lance Sweets," Booth flashed his badge, "We're sorry to inform you that Jared Clame was found dead last night."

Both Lance and Booth were taken back by Abigail's lack of remorse. Judging by the frown on her face, it appeared she was more put out that sad. "Seriously?" She demanded, scoffing and looking away, "Damn, you know it's his fault - running away like that. What the hell was he expecting?"

"Miss Lowe, you don't seem really bothered by Jared's death," Lance said a little hesitantly making sure not to upset her.

"I'm not!" She exclaimed. "He was a brat; he was way more work that his worth."

It wasn't every day Booth had the desire to punch a woman in the face. "Why didn't you report him missing?" He managed instead of resorting to his fists.

"Oh you know how these kinds of kids are, always running away," She said shrugging, "I figured he'd be back in a day or so."

Lance had a look of completely shock and disgust written on his face with his mouth slightly parted. The callous essence of the woman standing in front of him was almost unbearable.

"These children come to live here to stay safe," He said.

Abigail gave him the most disagreeable mien, "Not my fault if they run away."

Before Lance made the mistake to say anything else, Booth intervened, "Ma'am, when was the last time you saw Jared?"

She shrugged again, "I don't know, maybe about a week ago."

"Seriously," Lance chimed.

"Do you know if he would have gone somewhere in particular, to visit someone?" Booth reasonably went on.

"Nah, that kid didn't have any friends," She said nonchalantly, "he pretty much stuck to himself."

Removing his sunglasses, Booth asked, "Miss Lowe, where were you four nights ago?"

She laughed, almost maniacally, "Here. Like I ever have time to be somewhere else…" She began mumbling some things under her breath. "Is there anything else you need? I have to pick up some kids from school."

"No, that's it, thanks for your cooperation," Booth said, with a lack of sincerity.

Booth and Lance got into the SUV and drove away then after a few minutes passed Booth asked Lance, "You think she's capable of killing Jared."

Lance jumped on the question and answered quickly as if he had been anxiously waiting, "Oh, totally." He nearly laughed, but with anger. "Yeah, she showed absolutely no remorse at hearing the death of one of her children. I wouldn't be surprised if she just got fed up and killed him just to get him out of the way."

Booth nodded in agreement glancing at Lance a few times but before he said anything Lance continued on a rant. "Why is she even allowed fostering kids? Obviously, she's not suitable for it! This is why so many foster children grow up miserable and feeling worthless, because people like her makes them feel unwanted and insignificant." Lance sighed heavily dropping the hand he was using to make broad gestures.

"You alright, Sweets," Booth asked quickly grasping Lance's discontentment.

Inhaling, Sweets answered, "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. You know, it's just I was in foster care and if there's no one reminding you that your life is valuable you really think it's not." Sweets had looked at Booth but turned his head now and stared at the window.

Keeping his eyes on the road Booth said supportively, "I get it, Sweets."

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one, until they reached the Bureau and began discussing the case again. As the stepped out of the elevator, Caroline Julian met them with papers in her hands. "So, is Miss Lowe our killer?" She asked in her usual rough tone.

"Very plausible," Lance was fast to say.

"She says she was at home when Jared was killed, the only way to prove her alibi is to bring her and her kids in and confirm this," Booth inputted. By this time, they had reached his office.

"We don't even know if Jared was actually killed in the forests, his body could have been dumped there." Lance added. "He could have been killed _at _Abigail's home."

"Well, then you need to go pick up those kids, Cherie, and see what they have to say" She said.

"You got it," Booth fell into his office chair picking up his baseball.

"In the meantime, find out if anyone else had a death wish for the kid," Caroline said raising an eyebrow.

Caroline exited them room, (not before giving them a threating glance) leaving Lance standing in front of Booth's desk with his hands in his pockets. "We should see if she's dating anyone. And check out his schools. Possibly a school bully took it too far?" He said.

"This is why I hate these cases," Booth said, "How many things do kids do that really make someone want to murder him."

Lance shrugged his shoulder.

"Maybe if we got some cause of death, we could narrow down the suspect pool," Booth added a little frustrated. "Me and Bones were about to meet up for some coffee to discuss the case, maybe the squints have some information for us."

Lance nodded, "Okay. And I'll write up a profile about our murderer. I'll let you know if anymore suspects play into hand."

Tossing the ball up into the air and catching it again, Booth nodded at Lance who then turned and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Short chapter. Sorry. It didn't seem necessary to make it longer, though. Hopefully, I'll be posting Chapter 4 soon. Just so you know, the reason it sometimes takes me a little while is because I write, wait a day or so, read it over and fix all the errors with fresh eyes. Also - a bit of laziness and procrastination. But for all of you sticking with me, thank you! 3 Lots of love.**

**Hope you enjoy the next chapter. Feel free to leave replies, ideas or critique. **

Brennan sipped her earl grey tea while she and Booth ate lunch in the Royal Diner. Files and papers spread across the table as she flipped through the pages. Even when she wasn't at the Jeffersonian, Brennan was at work.

"After examining the remains and flesh, the cause of death is most likely blood loss from the abrasions caused on his back," Brennan said, "Mr. Vaziri is still inspecting the bones and Hodgins is checking where the tissue from the abrasions might have come from."

"So he bled to death…" Booth said to himself with a look of abhorrence on his face.

Pausing and tilting her head to the side, Brennan asked, "How is Sweets doing on the case?"

"What are you talking about? He's fine, of course." He didn't understand what Sweets' feelings had anything to do with a murder case.

"Well I find the case bring back some undesirable memories when I was in the system, and since Sweets shares a similar background I wonder how he is taking it," She nonchalantly took a drink of her tea.

"Why didn't you tell me this case was bothering you?" Booth asked leaning forward.

"Because, Booth, talking about it won't help find the murderer. And I'm sure when we do I'll feel fine okay, that's why I'm going to focus on the case until we do find him," She said everything so sincerely and robotically. Placing her cup down she asked again, "But you didn't answer my question about Sweets."

"Sweets is doing alright," Booth said shrugging and falling back in his seat, "He seemed upset when we were at Lowe's place but who wouldn't be, that woman was weird. He was fine by the time we go back to the office." He watched Brennan closely as she nodded satisfied. "Are you sure you're okay, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth," She said adamantly, "I'm fine."

Before they said anymore, Brennan's phone rang and she answered, "Brennan. Ah, Dr. Hodgins? Okay thank you, I'm on my way." She hung up while standing up and grabbing her bag. "Hodgins has the results of the tissues from the abrasions. I need to get back to the lab." She leaned down and pecked Booth's lips before walking out.

XXX

Back at the Jeffersonian Dr. Brennan buttoned her coat on while walking into Hodgins office. "What did you find, Doctor Hodgins?"

Spotting her, Hodgins turned around, "So I found leather in the wound."

"Leather?"

"Yeah," Typing something in on his computer, a picture of a bullwhip popped up on the screen.

"So he was whipped?" Brennan asked.

"That's what it looks like." Hodgins replied despondently.

Just then, Vaziri walked into the room with a bone fragment on a tray, "Doctor Brennan, I found something you might want to see."

Looking down at the bones, Brennan analyzed, "There seems to be fracturing in the fibula bone."

"Yes, but it's on both his legs," Vaziri said, "the victims legs were broken, and judging by the scrapes I found on the feet he was dragged to the forest."

Brennan straightened her posture, "So the victim was whipped, his legs were broken and then he was dragged into the forest where he bled to death."

"Jeez," Hodgins said exchanging glances with Vaziri and Brennan. "Seriously? Was the whipping not enough?"

Brennan gave a discontent look between them. "We need to find the killer," She said resolutely and with a tone that told the two men to work even harder. She then turned and strutted out of the room.

"Dude," Hodgins said to Vaziri shaking his head, "How can someone do this to a child?"

Vaziri shrugged, "How can someone do this to another human?" He pointed out.

Hodgins sighed, "I hate this case."


	4. Chapter 4

**I apologize in advance for the very slow update. My laptop is out of commission and so I'm writing this on a guest computer. My original idea for chapter 4 is lost on **_**my **_**computer so this new idea will have to make due. I hope you all still enjoy and for those who have stuck around, thanks for the patients. :) **

Questioning foster children wasn't the easiest things, Lance knew that. Even if the children were from an abusive home, normally that's all the knew and no matter what, would protect it. Lance knew, the best way to most likely reach one of these kids would be to personally connect to them, which is why he asked Booth if he could sit in during the interrogation personally.

Surrounded by the dark walls of the interrogation room, Booth and Lance sat across from a twitchy, sandy haired, blued eyed, ten year old boy named Larry Cain.

"So, Larry," Booth began in his recognized fatherly tone, "How close were you to Jared?" With his own experience with Parker, Booth accomplished a very positive attribute to the conversation that Lance thought would be very productive.

Avoiding eye contact and leaning as far back in his seat as possible, Larry shrugged and mumbled, "I don't know. We shared a room."

Evasive, little talking, and distance: clear signs he came from a home which put dominance before nurturious behavior. Lance cocked his head and asked Larry, "Did you and Jared play together?" Asking yes and no questions seemed always the best way to receive answers from kids. They were normally taught the value in truth and it was more difficult to reply allusive.

Larry nodded.

"When was the last time you saw Jared," Booth asked.

"Last Wednesday, when Abigail's boyfriend came over," Larry answered.

"Does he have a name?"

"I think it's Andy…"

And here came the questions that were always least desired in interrogations, especially with adolescents. "Larry," Booth began gently giving Lance a sideways glance, "Did Abigail or _Andy _every hurt you, Jared or any of the other kids?"

Larry looked at Booth for a moment, wondering how safe it would be to go on. He fidgeted in his seat and sat on his hands. He shook his head again, but not to answer Booth's question, it rather seemed he was refusing to answer.

"Larry, this is going to help us find whoever hurt Jared." Booth said.

Lance took a lead this time however and said, "No one is going to hurt you." He inclined forward and tried to make eye contact with Larry.

Licking his lips and glancing at Lance, Larry said, "He sometimes - hits us. But you know only if we misbehave!" He was quick to defend Andy. Judging that Larry only mentioned Andy as being violent, it was safe to assume Abigail was also vulnerable to Andy's 'discipline.'

Booth and Lance exchanged understanding glances. "Did Andy ever show special interest in Jared?" Lance asked, knowing that often times in abusive homes an adult directed their attention specifically to one child, making it easier to cover up tracks.

Larry seemed to think about it for a little while. "He sometimes took Jared to the shed outback."

That brought back a quick unpleasant memory for Lance. _Cold night, drunk man, being dragged to the barn across the cold grass_… Shifting in his seat, Lance regained his composure as quickly as he lost it. The interrogation went on undisturbed, "But you don't know what happened?"

Larry shook his head, "No…"

"Thank you, Larry," Lance gave him a reassuring smile as Larry was led out of the room by a social security worker.

Booth reclined and sighed in his seat when they had gone, "We need to find out who this Andy guy is. Lowe is waiting in the other room."

Lance sighed. "Awesome," he said with sarcasm.

XXX

Abigail Lowe sat indignantly in her seat with her purse over her lap and her arms crossed over it in a very defensive manner. She glanced from Booth and Lance, tapping her arm with her nails, obviously anxious to get going. Her hair was pulled back so tight of a ponytail Lance wondered if her hair would be pulled out.

"So are we just going to stare at each other all day or are you feds going to actually ask me some questions," Lowe finally snapped but for some reason gave more of her aggression to Lance. That was slightly unexpected since Booth normally posed a more threatening appearance.

"Are you nervous, Miss Lowe?" Lance asked, analyzing her reactions.

She snorted, "No. But whether or not you believe it I do have a life outside of you people staring at me all night." She looked away shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

Lance looked at Booth who leaned forward in his seat. Since Lowe already had an alibi that checked out, (proven by her cell phone records) Booth shot questions about Andy immediately, "Do you have a boyfriend named Andy?" He asked. If she was dependant on Andrew, Lowe was going to defend him indefinitely unless she herself felt threatened.

She looked startled. "Andrew? What the hell does he have to do with this? Did that brat, Larry, tell you Andy did it? Why that little son of a bi-"

"Do you know where Andrew was during the nights Jared was absent?" Booth proceeded unfazed by her ridiculous behaviour.

"I'm not his damn baby sitter."

"Did Andrew ever touch any of your kids?" Lance asked.

"Ew, what the hell are you suggesting, pervert!"

"What?" Lance said defensively, "I wasn't implying…"

Fortunately Booth intervened before Lance had time to insert his foot in his mouth. "Did Andrew ever discipline your kids with physical force such as spanking or hitting them?" He rephrased the question adequately although Lance still thought his phrasing shouldn't have been misunderstood.

Lowe swayed a little bit thinking about the best answer, "Now he might have gone overboard a little bit in the beginning but he's gotten better. Andy would have never done this though. I don't know who did."

"We'll be the ones to decide that. If you could write down Andrew's full name and address here," Booth slid Lowe a pencil and piece of paper which she reluctantly grabbed and scribbled down the information on.

"You got it all wrong, you feds," she said maliciously.

"Thank you for cooperation," Booth said ignoring her remark and leading her out of the room where a security guard took her back to her kids. He sat down and sighed heavily.

"She's a very disagreeable woman," Lance said gesturing to the door where Booth had let her out.

"Hopefully that's the last time we have to see her," Booth said snatching up the piece up and reading the information. "Anyway, you ready to meet Mr. Andrew Fallon?"

Tossing the paper onto the table in front of Lance Booth stood and walked to exit the room. Lance picked up the slip of paper and read it personally to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. _Andrew Fallon_, there was no mistaking it. Booth had left the room and was already calling Bones before he could see the color vanish from Lance's face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes as bottom because of spoilers. This was written early in the morning, quick, and only scarcely edited. So please excuse typos and etc. I do write best late at night though which is why I'm posting this now. Enjoy. **

As Brennan examined the victim's bones and mulled over the other injuries made on the body she couldn't rid herself of one repetitive thought. Although she tried to. It was distracting and in all reality she didn't want to see the connections she saw. Not being a very emotional woman, she had the habit of stifling her feelings, however, this weight of anxiety in her chest forced her to remove her gloves and head straight to the Bureau.

Before long she was climbing up in the elevator, exiting, and walking straight to Dr. Sweet's office. She knocked on the door before entering slowly. Sweets was sitting in his chair at his desk with his nose in a pile of forensic files. Hearing the door open he turned around and spotted Brennan. He looked confused.

"Doctor Brennan, what are you doing here?" By no means was Brennan very good at detecting people's emotions through their voice or facial expression, but she did see the weary look in Sweet's eyes.

She welcomed herself to his couch looked at him with her head tilted to the side and a concerned look on her face. It was rare for Lance to see Brennan behave in this manner and he stood up to sit closer to her. He sat forward in his armchair and returned Brennan's concerned look. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"This case..." She said but then paused wondering what the best wording would be. She chose her usual, upfront approach. "The scars found on the victims back are very similar to yours, Sweets."

Her ability to get right to the point without too careful considerations or sugar coating words was always admirable if not sometimes a little painful, Sweets mulled. Reclining in his seat he looked away a little awkwardly.

"Oh," he said. He wasn't in the habit of opening up to Dr. Brennan, despite his rather flamboyant behavior. Her reserved personality often kept them a good mile apart emotionally. He honestly didn't mind though. Emotionally and psychologically she was very well taken care of by Booth and so it didn't ever concern him too much when she didn't share with him. But with her sudden openness to discuss his scars made him feel flattered to some extent and nervous to the other.

He wondered if he should come clean to her completely or try to wave it off. Most people would sense the awkward silence being experienced between the two of them, but Brennan wasn't most people. Lance cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, "Actually..." What was he going to say? And should he really be telling her this? "We interrogated Ms. Lowe and it turns out her boyfriend, uh, Andrew Fallon, is likely the person who abused Jared." Lance cleared his throat. "Andrew Fallon was my… my foster parent." He tried to keep a steady voice and just barely managed. He met Brennan's gorgeous blue eyes which at the moment expressed so much compassion. Even though she tried to cover her emotions, she could never hide them from her face.

"I'm sorry, Sweets," She said tilting her head to the other side. "This must be very hard for you."

He leaned back in his seat and tried laughing a little, "Nah, I'm fine. You know, we were bound to run into each other again someday." He held onto the slight chance she would buy his poor nonchalant laugh and believe he was perfectly fine.

She wasn't so easily persuaded though. "You're lying." So brutally honest.

Lance puffed out his cheeks and sighed. He tried a different approach, "You know this is so unlike you, Dr. Brennan. Coming to me to make sure I'm okay isn't something you typically make a habit off…"

"You're deflecting, Sweets," She stated, sounding slightly offended.

Defeated, Lance fell back into his seat and exasperated. "Of course I am!" He almost whined. "I'm the psychologist; I'm supposed to be the one with all the answers about dealing with emotions and here I am the one who can't figure out how I feel." He rested his cheek on the palm of his hand in a pouting manner and looked out the window.

"Sweets, no one expects you to have all the answers."

"I do."

"Maybe you have too high of expectations for yourself."

Lance glanced lazily at her. Was that really coming from the most respected forensic anthropologist? Too high of expectations? Hardly, he wasn't even reaching the meere standards any psychologist noob would likely have. He heard many times he was too hard on himself but he never believed it. The Finley's, the family who adopted him, constantly told him to relax and not push so hard. But how could he not? By the time he was four he could read books most twelve years old didn't want to tackle. It wouldn't be right to put that smart to waste.

He wanted to disagree with her, but he knew it wouldn't get anywhere and he frankly wasn't in the mood to get into a discussion, especially with Brennan's direct disregard for his psychological views.

For a moment, she didn't say anything until her phone buzzed and she looked at it. "It's Booth. I have to go."

He sat up and smiled softly. "Thank you , Dr. Brennan," he said. "I really appreciate you coming here and checking on me." She stood to exit the room and stopped for second at the door, looked back at Lance once, then left.

When the door closed he dramatically fell back and let go of his formalities. He was an emotional wreck. Sure his face may have been glued to the files on his desk but his mind was in the past, on the farm with Andrew; and Lance's emotions varied painfully between fear, anger, and anxious turmoil.

He was drowning in his own pool of anxiety. The first time he read Andrew's name of the paper he felt like puking, but managed to get back to his office away from Booth. Anxiety attacked his stomach like World War III. He felt nauseous, numb, and cold. He hated himself for not being able to mend himself. He tried treating himself like a patient, but only ended up attacking and ridiculing his own methods, making him question his place as a psychologist.

Angry flashes of his time on the farm with Andrew kept playing through his head uncontrollably. Lance tried closing his eyes, hoping to refocus his thoughts on something he wanted to have control over but to no avail. He could practically feel the searing pain of the whip lash against his exposed skin again.

He stood up and paced the room for a few, considering going to Booth. He'd done so before, with situations he didn't know how to deal with. Booth wasn't very receptive but did step up to the plate once in awhile. Lance shook his head though. No, he didn't need Booth involved. He had gotten through this as a teenager, he could do it again. Anyways, being married to Brennan Booth was bound to hear about it sooner than later and if he wanted to talk to Lance about it he could.

When Booth had gone to question Andrew, Lance came up with an excuse why he had to leave. He hid his sick appearance and convinced Booth there was nothing wrong. And now he paced in his office wanting to hurl his previous meal.

Pain again lashed on his shoulders and the image of Andrew standing above him hurling the whip froze in his mind. Lance stopped, rubbing his face with his hands and sighing heavily. He wanted to scream and somehow get rid of all of these images and memories. Even trying to focus his thoughts primarily on the Finley's didn't work.

A brief consideration of some sort of pain substitute crossed his mind and he immediately thought of a knife hidden in one of his desk drawers but quickly shook off the idea by walking out of the office and into the Bureau kitchen to get himself a cup of decaf tea. He wasn't a teenager anymore, he could deal with his problems mentally.

While he dropped the tea bag into the boiling water he took a deep breath. Okay, he was fine, he told himself. Everything was fine. He realized he needed to look at the case as any other case he worked on. He needed to detach. Easier said than done.

Just then, Booth strode into the room. "Andrew wasn't at his apartment. Angela is checking if she can track his phone and find out where he is. In the meantime, you and I are going to be looking into Jared's other homes and see if anyone had a grudge against him. Here." He handed Lance another folder to add to his nice collection on his desk. He winked at Lance and clacked his tongue.

"Yeah if you don't mind I'm going to do this in my office," Lance said throwing the tea bag away while wondering if Brennan had said anything to Booth.

"You okay, Sweets?" Booth suddenly asked stopping and looking at him directly, "You look awful."

"Thanks," Lance remarked sarcastically. "Um, yeah I'm fine. There's just a few things I need to finish up for the profile before I can get to this."

Booth looked him over, debating whether or not he believed him, "Alright, you know where I'll be."

With that they went their separate ways. Lance re-entered his room and sitting down at his desk opened up Jared's foster home file. It felt like he was looking back into his own childhood.

With the slight comfort Brennan hadn't said anything, Lance narrowed down his thoughts as best as he could on the case so as not to make Booth suspicious.

**Really, REALLY, not a huge fan of writing character's emotionally status especially when they're not my OC. However, it felt rather necessary for this part of the story. I was slightly comfortable writing his anxious feelings considering I've dealt with anxiety so pulling from experience helped. Although I do want to make a statement on the self harm part; I don't imagine it being in his personality much to be someone who self harms, however, I do think he could have as an adolescence and as such, it's something you still feel like resorting to even when you're older. **

**Well anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to criticize a bit, just be gracious. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Okie dokes. I sort of feel like I've failed on Booth's role in the story. So I'm working on that in this chapter.**

The next morning Booth sat at his desk reading Jared's file, but nothing was popping out to him. The only thing 'popping' out was Sweet's horrible ability to lie. Oh sure, he knew Sweets was keeping something. But he didn't pry. If Sweets wanted to talk about it, he would. Always did. _Always_.

After he had spoken with Brennan on the phone he got a weird vibe she was also holding something back. She sounded as if she wanted to tell him something. At first the conversation appeared normal as they exchanged notes but at the end when she paused and said his name slowly like she always did when she wanted to share something he became suspicious and concerned.

_"__Booth..." _She had said.

_"__Yeah, Bones," _At the time he had been tossing paper into the air trying to find out where he had misplaced a report but he stopped to listen to his wife.

There was a pause so Booth repeated himself, _"What is it, Bones?" _

_"__Nevermind... I have to get back to the remains. Love you," _With that she had hung up the phone leaving Booth confused and a little worried. They hadn't even seen each other that night, Max had Christine and both of them had stayed at work.

He hated leaving Bones upset and he considered calling her and making her spill it but decided not to. No doubt at this point she'd be too indepth with her bones to be able to detach and send him any attention. He also wondered if it had something to do with Sweet. But he also remembered Bones mentioning in the cafe that the case could bother Sweets because of the similarities it had of his past.

Booth fell back in his seat; both of his partners were acting weird and while it wasn't damaging the case it was still annoying. He picked up the baseball on his desk and tossed it in the air a couple of times. His phone buzzed and answered it to Angela, "What do you have for me?" He set down the baseball.

_"__So while it looks like Andrew doesn't have a cell phone," _she said,_ "I was able to take his I.D. picture and find him on surveillance cameras through facial recognition around town and it looks like he hangs out a lot at this bar. I'm sending you the address now."_

"Okay thanks, Angela," Booth was just about to hang up when she hailed him.

_"__Wait, Booth! So while I digging around I also found out that he had charges against him about twenty years ago but they were dropped. I looked into it and…" _She paused, _"This isn't the first time he's done something like this."_

"He killed another kid?" Booth asked abhorred. What else had this guy done? They weren't looking at some serial killer were they?

_"__No, no… but there was a kid who was under his care for awhile, until there was a 911 call and the abuse was uncovered. The kid was adopted soon after and at first there were some charges but like I said, they were dropped."_

"The kid probably was too scared to take him on and go to court," Booth stated remembering when he had to go to court with his own dad. "Okay, so how does this help with this case?"

He heard Angela sigh, _"it took a little while, considering how well all this was put away, but I found the kid's name."_

"Okay?" Why the pauses? Why did she sound so distressed about this? Angela was the most emotional of all of them but something about this sounded more important to her.

_"__It's Sweets, Booth…"_

Booth was frozen, "What?" Had he heard her correctly? A brief memory of Brennan first mentioning the scars to him and Wyatt crossed his mind. _Oh jeez_. It really explained Sweet's behavior. Man, the kid must have felt sick when he found out who they were looking for. Why didn't he say anything? Actually, Booth didn't wonder why, he knew he never seemed that receptive of Sweet's problems.

"Alright, thanks, Angela," He said.

_"__Are you going to talk to him?"_ She asked before he had time to hang up.

Booth paused, wondering if he wanted to get involved. Of course. "Yeah, don't worry about it." He finally hung up and was about the stand up when his door opened and Sweets walked in.

"Hey," He said slowly eyeing Sweet's carefully.

The psychologist looked exhausted, pale, and sickly. "Hey," He replied, "I need to talk to you real quick."

Booth wasn't about to dance around the subject, "Angela told me Andrew was your foster parent."

The displeasure was clear on Lance's face. "Angela knows?" He flopped down in the chair by the door.

"The whole Jeffersonian probably knows," Booth stated honestly. It was like a high school there. If one person knew, they all did.

This perturbed Lance more than he could express. Coming to Booth had been hard enough and now everyone knew. He couldn't stand the thought of everyone being concerned about him and making sure he was okay. He felt like a failed psychiatrist. "Seriously?" He whined.

Despite Sweet's doubt in himself Booth was confident in his ability as a psychiatrist. He was far more worried about his current wellbeing. "Are you okay?" He asked after a little time passed between them.

Sweets looked away, obviously angry. "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

He wasn't even trying to convince Booth anymore, now he just didn't care. Booth wasn't upset though. Instead he continued to look at Sweets and said, "Sweets, look if you need some time off it's fine."

"Alright!" Sweets snapped lunging forward, "Sure, I'll just take a break whenever I feel the pressure. That makes me a great psychologist. I'm perfectly fine, _Agent _Booth. I came in here to let you know in case you thought it might compromise the case."

It wasn't the first time Booth had ever seen Sweet's angry, but it was the first time he saw the mass toll it was taking on him. "I wasn't questioning your ability as a psychologist, Sweets."

"Of course not." Sweets said cynically. He stood up and opened the door to leave. "Call me if you need anything." He left the room barely managing to not slam the door.

Booth momentarily contemplated going after him but decided not to. He didn't need to make a scene. He tapped his desk a couple of times, frustrated. He hated feeling like things were out of his control. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, he hated not being able to help Sweets. Bones was one of the few people he allowed to be seen when he was concerned, but Sweets? I mean, he was another guy… Either way, as uncomfortable as it made him feel he would still do whatever he could to get Sweet back in the game.

XXX

Lance went home. He picked up his work from his office and headed straight home. He was tired of being cooped up in that office all day. It was tedious after a while. And far too public. People walked in and out of there all the time as if he wasn't a real specialist in his line of work. Opening the door to his apartment he tossed his keys on the table, loosed his tie and fell on his couch with his feet hanging over the edge.

Even though he was finally home, in the comfort of his own residence, he still felt awful, constant flashbacks playing in his mind, chills running through his body, and that voice of Andrew coercing him. Fairly confident he wouldn't be able to rest peacefully without some help Lance retrieved Trazodone to help him fall asleep. Downing a couple of tablets he dropped himself back on the serenity of his couch, kicking his shoes off. The effect of course wasn't immediate but within in fifteen minutes he was able to distract his thoughts slightly by closing his eyes and counting as high as he could.

_Maybe at the beginning he ran away, kicked, screamed, scratched and fought back. But not anymore. While at some point he literally had to be dragged by his hair to the barn, now a few tugs on his arm was sufficient. At some point, a person gives up. Especially when that person is a vulnerable six year old boy incapable of defending himself._

_Tossed to the ground, he obediently removed his shirt. This used to not be necessary, until the man got tired of having to purchase new shirts. It first always started slowly, snapping across his bare back. But no matter how slow it was it always made his entire back feel like it was on fire. He learned to try his best to hold back the tears and the gasps of air he had to take when sobbing; anytime he was too noisy the man's anger would increase. Tears raced down his cheeks and he had to try so hard not to bite his cheek. Already once, he had bitten too hard and caused profuse bleeding. The man hadn't been happy about that._

_Another snap. This time he yelped and leaned forward. A few times he had blacked out. It really wasn't that uncommon. The pain would become too excruciating to bare._

_"__Sit up," The man ordered._

_Slowly leaning back up, a searing hot flash of angry pain exploded on his shoulder. He whimpered. Over and over, the pain danced on his back and the boy could just sense the enjoyment that man got out of it. He clenched his teeth, and bowed his head._

_"__I said sit up," The man repeated. When the boy failed to sit back up the man walked up and tugged his head back by the hair. "Do as you're told," He growled backing up again._

_This time, when the whip struck his skin over one of his already exposed wounds the boy let out a long, cold, shaky cry. He didn't know why this happened to him. He only assumed he deserved it for some reason. Everything happens for a reason. Right?_

_He could feel the air in his chest beginning to tighten and breathing become a much harder task. Tears fogged his view, panic gripped his chest, and a very cold numbing sensation took hold of his body. He began frantically wheezing for air and could hear the man cursing something as he swung the whip again and again._

_His watery vision soon transitioned into complete darkness and he fell forward into the hay and for a moment, lay in peace._

Lance opened his eyes with a heavy weight on his chest and as if he were back in the barn needing to gasp for air. He wiped his sweaty forehead and took deep breaths trying to calm himself. The last time he had had a flashback in one of his dreams he had been fourteen.

He reached over and grabbed his iPod sitting on the table. Placing the ear buds in his ear he reclined and blasted the metal music into his head at the highest volume. For now he just wanted to vanquish the dream residue he still had in his head. Slowly he fell back into a very heavy sleep.

XXX

"Why didn't you tell me, Bones?" Brennan sat across from Booth at the Royal Diner.

She tipped her head, "I wanted to, Booth. But it wasn't my secret to tell."

"You told Sweets Daisy was cheating on him one time!" He jeered gently, "when has keeping secrets been your things?"

"Telling Sweets about Daisy was for his own good, telling you about Sweets wouldn't have helped with the case or helped Sweets in any way." She said defensively.

Booth shook his head and sat back, "I just can't believe it. I never see Sweets as someone who deals with stuff. He's just the geeky psychology guy. I mean he's a friend but - you know - without problems."

"I understand what you're saying," Brennan took a sip of her coffee. "He's very good at cloaking his feelings."

Booth looked at her skeptically. Sweets? Cloaking feelings? That seemed rather unlikely. And why of all people did _Bones _see that? He was the guy with the gut feelings, he would have noticed first according to his equations. "What do you mean?"

"Well after thinking about it, of all the stuff we've found out about him in all these years, we pretty much only found out by chance, he never really said anything," She pointed out.

His mom working in the circus was a slip of the tongue, his scars was the consequences of a case, he never had a birthday party came up because of Christine's birthday, and most of his other unfortunate situations in his life that were brought up pretty much came up by accident.

For a moment Booth felt bad. Of course Sweets knew quite a bit about them but that was because he had been nosy when they first met, and because he constantly used his psychology babble to profile them. But he hardly knew anything about Sweets. They'd had their ups and downs, like when Pelant had used Sweets work against them convincing him to leave for awhile, and Booth had persuaded him to come back by getting him back in the field. Or when he gave Sweets some brotherly advice. So while it was clear Booth did help Sweets out he couldn't help but wonder what he might have missed.

"Come on," He said standing up and gesturing Bones to get up.

"Where are we going?" She asked surprised by his sudden eagerness to go.

"We're going to Sweets." He said determined to help Sweets out of this episode.

"Why?" She asked.

"Just come on…" He put his hand on her back and led her to the car.

**And... I feel bad for what I have done to Sweets. However, I'm endeavoring to make this as accurate to the characters as possible. Do I think this could happen in reality with these characters? Yeah I kind of do. Well anyway. Hope you enjoyed. Feedback is much appreciated, just be kind. :) Thanks for keeping up. **

**(Yay, over 2,000 words! Approximate estimate of a chapter) **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

**At the moment, I'm winging it. I have writers' block. Kill me. **

**Admittedly, after the season 10 premiere I had a little bit of a hard time getting back on my horse but you know what, I gotta finish it. This is sort of important to me especially now that I doubt any of these things will really be addressed in depth after **_**that **_**episode. **

**Also, I'm living in denial right now so that's helpful! Heh heh **

**Thanks everyone who is still following and keeping up with me **_**and **_**being patient. It means a lot :) **

* * *

Booth knocked numerous times upon Sweet's door but each time no one answered. Bones and he had already been to his office and when they saw he wasn't there they automatically assumed he had taken himself home.

Booth had pretty much thrown himself into the car with Bones and hadn't really thought what he was going to say to Sweets but he thought being there was better than nothing. This time Bones knocked. Still no answer. Tossing him a quick glance of moderate concern, Bones tried the door knob. It was unlocked.

Poking her head in she softly called, "Sweets?"

When nobody replied she entered the apartment followed by Booth. "He's sleeping," She whispered to Booth, spotting Sweets asleep on the couch with his feet over the side and his hands on his stomach.

Despite his peaceful appearance, Booth felt uneasy. They had knocked multiple times and weren't kind about it, he should have woken up. "Hey, Sweets," he said walking over and shaking his shoulder a little bit.

"Booth," Brennan said a hint of concern dancing in her voice. He looked at he and saw the bottle of pills in her hand.

"Sweets, wakeup," Booth ordered, suddenly concerned he was too late. Too late? He shouldn't have to worry about being there for Sweets _too late_. He shook Sweets vigorously.

All of sudden Sweets jerked awake gasping and sitting up. "Wow, woah, jeez," he panted. "What are you guys doing here." He pulled the ear buds out and a distant sound of hard rock was audible to everyone else.

The urge he had to slap Sweets for worrying him so much was hard to resist. "What do you mean what are we doing here?" Booth snapped. "What were you thinking, taking Trazodone?" Not that Trazodone was a real threat but in Sweets current situation he couldn't be too careful.

Sweets shifted, "It's not harmful, Booth. I just couldn't sleep." He said shortly.

"Of course not, it's the middle of the day," Booth snapped. He backed up and sat down on the recliner by the couch glaring at Sweets hoping that his intimidating stare would snap him out of it.

"Sweets," Brennan intervened, "Booth is worried about you." Booth's hands dropped, disappointed with her response. "_We're_ worried about you." She corrected.

Either guilt ridden or just stubborn, Sweets looked down and didn't say anything. Exchanging a glance with Brennan, Booth followed up on her statement, "You have every right to feel the way you do. But you can't stop us from being concerned and making sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," Sweets insisted but with less effort and a dull tone in his voice.

"No, you're not, Sweets. This case is personal for you, I get it. But withdrawing and pushing everyone out isn't going to help you." Sweets still avoided eye contact and licked his lips. "Look," man, Booth hated getting all personal, "You can talk to us, Sweets. _You're _constantly stressing about being open and honest, so… yeah, why don't you open up a little to us?" This was dead against Booth's nature but maybe he also felt compelled to do this for Bones. With their similar backgrounds he imagined she would want someone there for her if Sweets and her places were swapped.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sweets glanced drearily at Booth, contemplating what was said. Considering how unlike Booth it was to do this for him, it made Sweet rethink his opposition to talking. Sighing dramatically Sweets caved in and fell back with a thump. "I feel so pathetic," He admitted. "If, as a psychiatrist, I can't face up to my past demons, how can I help people to do so themselves? Not only that, but…" He shuddered, "I don't think I can face Andrew. The last time I saw him was right before a court hearing when I was seven and even then I couldn't do it."

"Sweets," Brennan seated herself near to him, "Something you told me, even though I don't believe your profession is really reliant, was that talking about your fears out loud was beneficial to healing old wounds."

He had grown accustomed to her opinions about psychology and allowed that remark to roll off his shoulders. But the rest of what she said was true and his entire day he had been trying to ignore it. He took a deep, as if about to open up, but then closed his mouth his and shook his head. "You know, I think I just need to walk it off." He stood up and was immediately road blocked by Booth's sturdy frame.

"Sweets, sit down."

Huffing, Sweets flopped back onto the couch just as Booth sat back down in his chair sitting on it like a throne.

"You're being very hypocritical," Brennan suddenly spat. Sweets shot her a defensive and shocked look. "You insist on psychology and the benefit it has for people but you won't apply it to yourself. I'm afraid that I can't take your profession at all seriously if a psychiatrist won't even follow up on his own words."

"Exactly!" Sweets said. His head fell back on the couch and he gazed pathetically at the ceiling.

Booth shot Brennan a "Why did you say that?" look. Cocking her head, Brennan continued, "So prove me wrong, Sweets."

Watching, Booth and Brennan waited while Sweets sat quietly. Finally, without redirecting his focus from the ceiling Sweets reluctantly began talking irritatedly, "I know it's been years and Andrew can't do anything but it wasn't just his physical abuse that made me so terrified of him. His constant belittling and demeaning things he said honestly made me believe that what he did to me was my fault. It wasn't until the Finley's adopted me and I was thirteen years old when I was finally convinced I couldn't have done anything to change what happened." He sighed. Looking at Booth he was asking if that was enough.

Booth nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Brennan who returned with a concerned expression. Sweets had rolled through that without emotion, he spit it out just to get them off his back, actually reminding Booth of himself. Knowing that pushing the case wouldn't help solve anything, Booth let him off the hook for a little while. He would definitely make Sweets fess up more later but for now he did still have this case to pursue and Sweets could use a break. "Alright," He said. "If you need to talk anymore though, Sweets, just let us know…"

"Okay." Sweets smiled blankly and turned his gaze away.

Standing up Booth and Brennan bid Sweets goodbye and left with heavy weights on their shoulders. Just as Booth closed the door Brennan hissed to Booth, "He's not fine, Booth."

He gestured for her to lower her voice in case they were still in earshot, guiding her away he acknowledged it. "I know, I know," He said, "But right now all we can do is give him a little space, think about what's happened and in the meantime you and I look for Andrew." Despite seeming displeased with what state they were leaving Brennan obliged.

* * *

No, he wasn't fine, Lance thought just as he heard Brennan say it outside his door when they left. He didn't know what to do; his inner shrink told him to get up, and get back on the case and face it; but the inner demon which was at the moment overpowering was telling him to just give up. It wasn't the first time in his life when he had to push through this darkness but he had really come a long way. It was the worst when he was a teenager.

Despite how amazing the Finley's were as parents to him they weren't around a lot. They were often on trips for work. And unknowing to them, he'd never celebrated his birthday with them. He never brought it up though because he didn't want them to feel guilty. And with them gone all the time, he was often home left to fight off his dark feelings alone. The ridicule and bullying in school never helped as he was set years apart from everyone else. The few times the Finley's were home he always wanted them to see him happy so he rolled down his sleeves and put on a smile and told them school was perfect.

Once, he did something he regretted more than anything in the world. But before Lance's mind wondered off into it there was a knock on his door. He considered ignoring but if it were Booth again he didn't want him to get on his case. Standing up and answering the door he was greeted by Angela's determined face.

"Get your coat, we're getting lunch and you're pouring your heart out me." There was no request in her voice.

"I…"

"Sweets, if you even dare give me some half assed excuse why you can't come I will personally drag you all the way down there." She smiled.

While Sweets assumed he was stronger than her he really didn't want to take it that far. She was an amazing woman full of surprises, and if she was anything like her father it wasn't worth putting it to the test anyways. Not to mention he also liked Angela. They had plenty of conversations that were aspiring and he enjoyed her confidence and unquestioning behavior. The idea of talking over a cup of coffee actually didn't intimidate him or leave him feeling too uncomfortable so he decided to take the opportunity to possibly have someone to talk to.

"Alright," He said grabbing his coat and keys. "Let's go." Locking up the apartment he followed her downstairs and to her car.

* * *

**I actually strongly dislike slashes or hooking up characters that aren't together in the shows for real but if I had a choice, Lance and Angela. I like Hodgins and Angela so much, but if that hadn't happened, totally would ship Lance and Angela. Of course that's irrelevant to my story but whatever. **

**As for when the next chapter is coming out it may be a little while. I need to recap and reorganize what I have right now so I don't screw it up. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

**Super short chapter, sorry! But extending seemed unnecessary and I'm still working on the next part but I think I've scrambled out of the brief writer's block that was holding me back. I have a few ideas for the climax and ending finally which will help me to keep going. **

**Hope you all enjoy and feel free to leave feedback :) **

* * *

"So what's up?" Angela asked jumping right to the point with Sweets.

They were inside the Royal Diner, munching on fries and sipping tea and coffee.

Stirring his tea, but not seeming interested in drinking it Sweets leaned against the table with one arm. He sort of shrugged, "I don't know." But he did.

Putting on her face, she said, "Come on, sweetie, what's going on in that big brain of yours?"

"He ruined my life, Angela," Sweets said spontaneously in his childish high voice that he sometimes fell into. Finally finding the courage to talk he rambled before his anxiety blocked him again, "Even after I was adopted by the Finley's I was plagued with nightmares, Andrew convinced me that I was worthless and that no one would ever want me. It wasn't until…" He paused, the next part was hard for him, as he never told anyone about this before, "until I tried- until they saved me from hurting myself." He explained, trying to remain a little vague. "I realized then that if they were willing to do that then they must care. I was fifteen though, leaving me with ten years of my life assuming that I was just a burden to people. When I was finally able to get past it, I got into psychology so I could understand what a family was. But with him back," Lance shook his head, "It's like all that resolution I ever had just vanished." He swept his hand across the air like his 'resolution' was blown away.

"I think you want to kill him," She suddenly said out then popped a french fry into her mouth.

He looked at her, shocked. "What? No, of course not."

"It's not a bad thing," She said, "So long as you don't actually do it of course. You just want your

revenge."

"No…" He insisted, "No that goes against almost every psychological…"

"Okay, we're tossing that psychology mumbo jumbo out the window for a second. We're talking about your feelings and we're going to be honest about them. Don't hide them behind a wall of psychology. Do you wish Andrew Fallon was dead?"

He paused, staring at her with his puppy eyes and a pleading expression, and gave in. "Yes! Yeah, I wish he was dead. I think it would be better for everyone if he was dead."

She grinned cocky. "Feels good doesn't it?"

He felt guilty for admitting but nodded with a satisfied expression, "Yeah…"

"Alright good, now you can't kill him _but_, you can send his sorry ass to jail." She glanced around briefly wondering how many people had just overheard their conversation.

He wished it were that simple, as if sending Andrew to jail would whisk away his pain. But at the moment the only thing that seemed like it would relieve him of this unwanted feelings was out of the question.

Resting his other elbow on the table he planted his face in his palms and sighed deeply. No. It really wasn't that simple. His breathing was still tight, a fist was churning his stomach, and ants still crawled underneath the skin of his hands. He consistently felt on the verge of puking.

It wasn't just Andrew's reappearance that sent Sweets in a state of internal chaos, it was the memories that came flooding in which forced old insecure feelings to resurface. Even with Andrew sent to jail, Sweets couldn't imprison his emotions for decades too.

A brief image of a dark hot barn, blood and searing pain flashed through Sweets mind. Inhaling sharply he sat back sending the cafe back into his vision.

"Sweets," Angela said with an inquiring tone of voice.

Sweets met her gaze, "I'm sorry, Angela," He shook his head, "thank you but french fries and coffee isn't going to help." He reach out for his coat and keys.

"Sweetie…"

"I just need to think."

He was already out of the cafe on his way to - he wasn't sure where he was headed. He wasn't going back to the office where he would be provided no privacy and his apartment was hardly in walking distance.

Deciding not to choose a destination he turned off his cell and just walked letting his feet guide him.

* * *

**I like Angela and Sweet's friendship. It would appear that after Booth, Angela would be Sweet's next closest friend. **

**I was reading one of my psychology books and was reading the section on PTSD which pretty much inspired the chapter and helped me out of my writer's block. Originally this was going to have a more positive ending until I realized it would hinder the next chapter. **

**So again, sorry for the short chapter. But hopefully I'll be posting a new chapter soon. **

**Stay tuned :) **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so sorry it's been so long, everyone! At first it was procrastination then it was legit busyness. :( **

**But now that I'm almost graduating and winter break is upon me, I'll hopefully have more time to work on the following chapters. **

**Thanks for sticking with me so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's not in my usual fashion to write scenes where a fight commences so I hope I do okay.**

**Feel free to leave a review! **

* * *

**Chapter 9 **

After two weeks, Andrew still had not been found, leaving the Jeffersonian and the Bureau assuming he skipped town after possibly getting word of the warrant for him. While this left everyone else on edge and searching more thoroughly, it relieved Lance.

Within the last few weeks, Lance struggled to recover emotionally but fell into his own self doubt. Despite resuming work and continuing his sessions he still didn't feel suitable for it. He tried to convince himself he could do it, by persuading everyone else. Booth dropped in at first the few couple of days and once Lance had done a well enough job convincing Booth he was fine, his visits ceased. He appreciated Booth's concern, and he thought it was great character development for Booth but he didn't like being dolled or worried about.

It was a Monday - the renowned worst day for everyone. Sitting up from bed, and dragging himself to the shower, Lance washed, brushed his teeth, dressed, and shoved down a breakfast. Eating felt uncomfortable as his stomach felt heavy with bricks and his mouth ached from clenching his teeth, but he recognized the necessity of breakfast and was eager to get back into a normal routine.

He had an about an hour to spare before he had to leave for work in which case he'd probably still be early. Sitting down and pulling out a book on psychology Lance stared at the pages even though every word that his eyes passed over didn't stop for a moment to be remembered. Just tricking himself into thinking he was reading was better than actually dealing with his thoughts which he had grown into a habit of stuffing deep into his subconscious.

He liked to pretend he was facing his issues but really he was just setting them deeper and deeper inside of himself. His inner, guilt ridden consciousness knew this but he also swept that away.

A knock on the door shook him out of his thoughts. Unfamiliar to unexpected company, Lance hesitated to open the door, until the knock repeated itself. Standing up he opened his door and two large, unsteady hands pushed him back.

Slamming the door behind him, Andrew made sure to lock it. Whirling around with an unbalanced rage, Lance could clearly see Andrew was intoxicated and most likely irrational.  
"This is your fault." Andrew growled stabbing Lance in the chest with his index finger.

As if a fist had snatched his lungs making it almost impossible to breath, Lance gelled in the sudden presence of Andrew's looming physique. Backing up slowly from Andrew, Lance sensed his dangerous anger was on the verge of exploding. His mind and heart were racing making it nearly impossible to even question Andrew what he was doing at his home.

"I have been on the run for the last two damn weeks because of you!" Andrew was breathing heavily, obviously stressed and angry."What the hell did I ever do to you?" Rearing around and closing in on Lance, Andrew's hands were in tight, threatening fists. "I gave what a brat like you deserved, you ungrateful piece of crap!" Swinging his hand Andrew knocked over one of Lance's lamps from the coffee table.

Clenching his jaw, the anxiety and fear Lance harbored for Andrew began to evolve into anger and old feeling of the deepest disgust and hate. But the last thing he needed to do was antagonize Andrew, so Lance turned to a more passive aggressive confrontation. "What do you want, Andrew?"

Sighing sharply and laughing Andrew answered, "I want you to get me out from underneath all this heat."  
"What?" That had been the last thing Lance would have suspected. He originally assumed revenge or some sort of vendetta. But Andrew wanted help? Either Andrew was stupid or just - no he was stupid.

"You heard me. You got me in this shit-hole, you're getting me out!"

"I didn't get you anywhere." Lance laughed bitterly, wondering how screwed up in the head someone had to be to come to the child they abused for help. "You did this to yourself and there's _no way_ I'm helping you."

Obviously not receiving the response he sought and being very drunk, Andrew shoved Lance into the edge of his table. Lance winced as he felt the wood pierce his outer thigh. "Is that so?" Andrew jeered, "Because you're a tough guy now, huh?"

Reaching for whatever little courage he had hidden away somewhere Lance repeated, "I'm not helping you, Andrew."

Andrew's fist suddenly met Lance's lower jaw. Stumbling to the side, Lance set aside his usual tame nature and delivered an equally powerful strike that sent Andrew's back into the wall. Recovering quickly, Andrew clutched Lance's shoulders and kneed him in the stomach. As they wrestled, Lance eventually found himself pinned down with Andrew on top of him landing one blow after another to his face. Extending his arm, Lance gripped a shattered piece of lamp and swung it over landing a solid blow to Andrew's forehead.

Falling limp on top of Lance, Andrew's bloody forehead soaked Lance's white carpet.

Exhaling deeply, Lance pushed Andrew off and scurried to his feet. Breathing heavily with a sudden wave of nausea, he reached out for his phone dialing the first number that seemed reasonable. "Booth? Yeah, Andrew - he's in my apartment."


End file.
